


We Move Lightly

by ladyofstardvst



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Fluff, and also stability, angst if you squint, god knows he needs that and ill give it to him myself if i have to, good things bc our boy deserves it bye
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2020-12-17 15:49:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21056951
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyofstardvst/pseuds/ladyofstardvst
Summary: One of those late night realizations of "wow I'm in love with my best friend" things, in which you and Malcolm share a beautiful sunrise after a long night, and have a lovely Moment.





	We Move Lightly

**Author's Note:**

> I started watching this show and quickly became trash so here I am, here we all are, welcome!! Malcolm deserves stability and if i have to write it myself, then you bet I will. (just let the man heal. pls.)

You had not seen a morning so beautiful in ages.

The sky was wrought in burnt orange and amber, streaks of vermilion pierced through the sun’s arrival. Golden rays washed over the horizon, glinting off high rise windows and chasing away the darkness, the terror of the night. Wispy, ash colored clouds wove their way through the expanse above, and between the colors of the sun. The air around you was bathed in firelight, though there were no flames except for the one in the sky.

It took your breath away; eyes lit up in awe and illuminated your existence in the most ethereal glow that Malcolm Bright had ever seen.

Silence had grown on the rooftop of his clock-tower loft. You, distracted by the sunrise and watching the world come alive right before your eyes. Malcolm, entranced by the sunrise, yes, but more so by _you_. The way you so clearly took pleasure in the simple things life offered – and how _much_ he realized, in that moment, he loved you as much as he could ever love anyone, and then some.

He met you at Harvard, the two of you became close fairly quickly; close enough that it slipped out who he was, who his father was, one night while high on each others company in the late hours of a sleep deprived, rambling heart to heart about the universe, about the future, about life. You were surprised, sure, but didn’t bat an eye or ask invasive questions, nor dumb ones like, “Wow, what was _that_ like, having a serial killer in the family?”

Instead, you handled it with an offhand comment about not choosing who brought us into this godforsaken world, and no one’s family is perfect anyway.

He was grateful, to have kept in touch when he went off to Quantico, and you to New Orleans. He was grateful you stayed a constant in his life for the better part of ten years, for not judging when he went to visit his sociopath of a father, and he was grateful he had you to lean on when he stopped.

He was more than grateful to find out you requested a transfer to New York, and it was granted, when he made his graceless exit from the FBI.

_I wouldn’t dream of letting you go back into the lion’s den on your own_, you said. You kept your word.

That’s how you found yourself on a rooftop in New York City one Thursday morning, lukewarm mug held loosely in your hands, steam curling slowly up and up and up before it dissolved into steam when met with the chilled October air. You watched carefully as the night began to kiss the world awake and gift you the beauty of dawn.

You didn’t notice that you had grown colder than you were comfortable, giving in to a chill and trying to fold closer into yourself.

Malcolm, who of course noticed immediately, shrugged off his jacket and wrapped in around your shoulders with a squeeze that made your breath catch.

“I’m not cold,” you said, eyes leaving the sun finally peeking through breaks in buildings and glass.

Malcolm regarded you with raised eyebrows and a tone that new you were full of shit. “No? So you were shivering for fun, then?”

A smile broke out on his lips, so contagious that one graced your own immediately after.

“Okay, fair, but I didn’t come over here to steal your clothes. I can go grab a blanket.”

“Right,” Malcolm replied, “Stealing my clothes is just a bonus when I drag you out of bed at all hours of the night.”

You looked back to the sky, heart still hammered behind your ribs, lungs still (barely) taking in crisp, cool breaths. Malcolm still stood close enough his arm was pressed into your side.

He was looking at you, you could feel it. You knew he would know what you were thinking before you realized for yourself, before you knew what you wanted to say. Malcolm _knew you __\- _knew your tells, how you thought, and how you tried to hide all of it. It was useless being anything other than honest with him.

He would feel guilty anyway, and it’s not like you hadn’t had this conversation before.

“Well at least you made me coffee,” you said with a smile, ducked your head down to spy on the city below your feet. “And if you knew you couldn’t count on me, you wouldn’t call when things are . . . worse than usual.”

Malcolm knew about risks and behaviors and unconventional lives. He also knew about you; and he knew any risk he took would never damage the friendship you had, all the time you’ve spent together.

He took another look at you, basking in the rays of the sun now visible, looking so entirely serene under the pale sky that you stole the breath right from his lungs. He took a risk, and asked you to dinner.

You accepted, without wasting a moment.

The only constants Malcolm Bright had in his life were murder, darkness, and fear. The only constant that was living, _breathing_, full of light in his life, was you.


End file.
